Purple scales
by chloemcg
Summary: Spyro goes out on a nighttime search to find his son sitting all alone out in the wilderness, clearly troubled about something. Can the purple dragon bring the comfort the young whelp really needs? Fluffy one-shot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own any characters of the LOS Spyro series, except for Ivor —my OC child of Spyro and Cynder.**

 **Purple** **scales**

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Spyro let out a long exhale as he felt the cool evening air hit his face.

He had been sent out on an errand by his mate, Cynder, to try and find his son whom had slipped out of the small house they lived in just outside of Warfang. The shadow dragoness had mentioned that little Ivor had been getting relentlessly taunted, mocked and teased for about a week now and it was a constant source of bother for the young dragon whelp. He'd wanted to just relax since he only got back from his previous peace mission yet now he was dealing with family issues... _great._

He just hoped he could find Ivor before another rainstorm hit.

The purple dragon steadied himself as he trotted with a slight haste of urgency being sprung into his every step. His eyes were focused and his bright purple scales glimmered in the pale moonlight whilst he casually sauntered down a lonesome hill slope that would lead to a small peak at the hilltops. He could feel moisture linger in the atmosphere as he walked, feeling a few drops of rainwater left over from the recent heavy showers hit his pelt while he cantered through the plains.

Spyro lowered his gaze as his claws splashed in the puddles of rainwater.

He had a feeling that the oncoming storm would probably not arrive for another while but he wasn't willing to take a single, solitary risk. He didn't want to leave his hatchling out in the middle of a big chaotic mess of thunder, hurricanes and lightning —it just wasn't safe.

The tall, slender, heroic purple dragon kept walking until he arrived at a small lakeside filled with lush grass covered in dew due to the recent showers. What made this place more stunning was the silver beams of moonlight shimmering across the surface of water and it instantly put his mind at ease. The lake was quiet and serene and it was a place that could become the ideal place for someone looking for comfort and calming vibes, plus it was where he'd spoken his vows of matrimony to a certain shadow dragoness.

He would never forget this place for as long as he drew breath.

What's more was that Spyro had finally spotted Ivor, sat all by his lonesome. Even though he was a good yard or two away, the purple dragon looked on as he saw the little silvery-white whelp.

Spyro sighed with relief.

"Oh, thank the ancestors...!"

The white dragon had managed to accumulate some items so he could (probably) have his own little miniature fire to sit by collecting a pile of kindling which consisted of a few thin twigs, some feathers and even a full on tree branch. Ivor, sitting on his haunches, used his little tail to shovel them all together and thus grouping them up so the pile was just slightly shorter then he was himself.

It was once the small dragon was satisfied with his work that he started to get ready to set it alight.

Ivor took a slow yet steady deep breath in, getting his lungs filled with that cool nighttime air, and had to admit that there was a buzz of energy he had felt charging through his small body. He felt his throat feel hot and closed his eyes to concentrate on that heat; it took a few moments until he felt a spark on his tongue and he opened his mouth as wide as he could and blew, a wisp of fire trailed through the air and scorched the pile of sticks and twigs.

The pile was instantly engulfed by bright orange flames as embers started to emerge before dancing and whirling around gracefully in the air.

The small dragon looked down at the small flames that crackled and hissed, being roasted in that small pile of kindling and branches and twigs. Ivor's purple eyes stared non-blinkingly at the flames as he wore an expression of deep concentration and loneliness. His muzzle was tight and his small back had been hunched up so his head would be ducked in between his rigid shoulder blades.

His only company were his own thoughts right now...

Spyro, concerned for his youngling, started to make his approach by striding slowly forwards. He even moved to sit on a patch of grass right beside the troubled little dragon and, upon looking down at the small flame that had lit up the nighttime world, the older dragon just couldn't help but feel somewhat proud of the little white dragon for organising his own little, miniature bonfire; he was clearly getting better with controlling his fire element.

"Hi, little guy. Are you okay?" Spyro asked.

Ivor apparently wasn't aware of his father's presence as he jumped and gave a startled shriek.

Spyro jerked backward in shock, eyes still trained on his son.

Without thinking, Ivor flinched and swung his small tail at the adult purple dragon almost as if it was automatic or second nature to him. A stunned Spyro used his own spade-shaped tail tip to block the teeny tiny scythe that had just been aimed at him and the small blade-attached tail very slightly got itself stuck into the yellow arrow point. It was most likely going to leave a small yet permanent dent in his yellow arrow-shaped tail tip but he had bigger worries right now.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah! Easy, son, it's just me!" He cried.

Ivor seemed to quickly snap back to his senses as his pupils shrunk into teeny dots of horror inside his eyes. It was as plain as day that he hadn't meant to react so dramatically and that he only reacted in such a way because he was startled. He shrunk down towards the ground in shame as he lowered himself to lay on his dark magenta stomach with his eyes scanning the grass below.

"I...I...I-I'm sorry, dad...! I didn't mean to!" He squeaked panickedly.

Spyro, still seated upright on his haunches, lowered his tail and shifted away from his defensive posture whilst smiling softly in what he hoped would reassure the guilty hatchling. His eyes softened as he looked the little dragon in the eye —those same eyes that mirrored his own exactly. Every single time he'd stare into them, he'd see himself and then be reminded of playing hide-and-seek with his adopted dragonfly brother Sparx.

Those days felt like a whole lifetime ago.

"It's okay, Ivor, no harm done."

Ivor seemed slightly comforted as he finally rose off of his stomach and stood on all fours, eyes holding some rather distant pain. He then saw as his father used one of his claws to pat a spot right beside him, signalling for the youngling to take a seat beside him. The little dragon reluctantly obeyed and waddled over to the spot where the tall purple dragon was signalling him to sit and soon enough he, too, sat down on his haunches.

The father and son duo sat in the grass and overlooked the lake, watching the fish inhabiting it swam around underneath, causing the water to ripple significantly. Watching the aquatic wildlife swim about in the night, in spite of the stormy weather, actually made the world seem peaceful. Even though things had been going wrong, coming to this place and seeing such beauty like this washed away all doubts and sadness. It made everything terrible, in a sense, worth it just to see this spectacular view.

The purple dragon stared up at the night sky, eyes misting up with nostalgia.

"This night reminds me of how I proposed to your mother..."

Ivory squinted his eyes and scrunched his muzzle in disgust. "Ew! Really?"

A hint of a smirk crept across Spyro's muzzle as he gave a nod of confirmation. He would never forget the night where he had asked the former "Terror of the skies" to be his mate and how he had decided to ask this just after she had confronted some bullies. To say the least, it was a special evening all in all and it filled his heart with glee. He also couldn't help but find it ironic that his son had taken refuge at the very same lake his mother had all those moons ago.

"Umhmm."

He shook his head quickly to snap himself out of his thoughtful stupor.

He needed to refocus his attention on the matter at claw.

"Now then...what's this I've been hearing about you being bullied?"

Ivor's entire body stiffened as he heard that question and he knew right away that this would not be a pleasant conversation. His eyes widened and he could feel the colour drain from his face —he was pretty sure that if his scales weren't already a pasty white colour then his scales would have been the whitest shade ever recorded.

The young ivory white dragon whelp had tried to make his voice work, to try and deny that claim but his own tongue had decided to fail him. He made some clumsy attempts to speak but it just came out as incoherent mumbles and mutters. His tongue flopped about in his mouth and wouldn't allow him to form proper words...it didn't take too long until he realised that there was no point in lying to his father, he knew this too well.

Ivor sighed sadly, eyes closing as he hung his head so low that his lower jaw was close to touching the ground. His small wings drooped and his posture deflated like a balloon out of shame, guilt and sadness that was absolutely gut-wrenching for the purple dragon sat beside him. It was clear he didn't wish to talk about this but he was never the type to disobey his parents' wishes.

"The...The other little dragons keep picking on me an-and one of them was saying that I was adopted. Is it true?"

Spyro was glad he wasn't drinking any water right now because he was sure it would have abruptly sucked down into his trachea, causing him to choke on it, if he was. His heart skipped a beat as he swiftly snapped his head to glance down at his son with pure astonishment, bright magenta eyes wide with shock.

"What? Where did you get that idea?"

"Well," The small hatchling shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, eyes gazing downwards as though it were the most interesting thing to look at rather then provide any more of an explanation, "I keep hearing the other dragons call me a freak when they don't think I'm near because of my scales."

Spyro couldn't fend off a scoff of silent fury as he thought about his son's tormentors, a shot of anger hitting him in the heart like a bullet. He _hated_ when he heard those silly rumours being spread about like wildfire —especially when they were rumours discussing and badmouthing his family. It made his heart ache and his gut clench.

Tears welled up in Ivor's eyes.

"A-And they say that you aren't my dad! They said I'd never be like you and, besides, you're a dragon with purple scales, mum's a dragon with black scales and I've got chalky scales...!"

Spyro frowned sympathetically. He never liked hearing anyone making such comments about his son nor did he ever like the sound of other young dragons bullying him. It would always fill him with rage that would make smoke blow from his nostrils thanks to the fire in his throat that would arise whenever he would grow angry or defensive. Besides, that rumour was a bunch of codswallop! But how could he explain that to his very young son...?

Ivor asked quietly, "Why couldn't I have ebony scales like mama, dad?"

Spyro didn't answer that question for several moments. He actually found Ivor's ivory white scales to look like the colour of the moonlight gleaming high in the pitch black sky, glistening amongst the sparkling and twinkling stars. He was proud to have such an amazing and unique son like Ivor. He never even second guessed how rare a white dragon was and he expected any egg or hatchling of his to be treated nicely...but it appeared that the opposite was true in this case. He expected that Ivor's pristine white scales were a result of the simple fact that Spyro and Cynder counteracted one another in certain ways but also shared traits that gave the two of them a special connection.

Plus, Spyro and Cynder were the sole survivors of the Year of the dragon so they supposed that would have also allowed both of them to have a special egg.

It felt like an eternity passed on by before the purple-scaled dragon responded.

"Because you simply weren't meant to, my son."

Ivor looked down, not seeming very convinced.

"Oh."

An idea sparked in his mind as he furled his huge wing around the small white dragon and proceeded to gently nudge him fourth.

Ivor stumbled forwards, almost tripping over his own paws as he felt shocked and surprised that he was suddenly being shoved towards the waters edge. He felt nothing but confusion as he wondered what was going on and he had to wonder why this was happening as he blinked away the ears that lingered hanging in the corners of his eyes.

He heard the crunching of grass and quickly noticed that his father was sat next to him again.

The two dragons stared into the water, watching their reflections wriggle and ripple. The reflective pool glistened and shimmered and started to grow wavy due to the gentle gale-force winds that started to gently blow, distorting the reflective images in the water.

"Now, Ivor," Spyro started to speak in a half-heartedly playful fashion, "what colour are your eyes?"

Ivor peered in closer to stare at his reflection and hesitated on answering that question, but more out of confusion then anything else.

"Purple, like yours?"

Spyro nodded and used his arrow-tipped tail to point to the whelp's yellow head horns and then to the big white spikes coming out from either of his cheeks.

"And whose horns have you got?"

"...Yours and mum's?"

"And whose shaped face did you get?"

"Y-Yours?"

Spyro nodded his head. "Yep, just like me."

"So tell me, son, can you see any differences besides your scales?"

Ivor shook his head in response to the inquiry. He had to admit that he was starting to feel really silly about believing those bullies after having those similarities between his parents pointed out to him. He was sure that if it were possible then his face would have turned bright red due to sheepish embarrassment, he kept staring at his wibbly-wobbly reflection intensely.

In the meantime, Spyro let a wry smirk curl at the corners of his lips.

"...And besides, you know who else has white scales?"

Ivor glanced back up at his father with large yet curious eyes and then he looked back down in deep thought. His face tightened as he thought really hard about that inquiry. As far as he knew, he was the only white dragon so he found it hard to answer that question —he wracked his brain as he tried to think about who it could possibly be that his father was referring to.

Spyro couldn't be more amused in spite of this previous saddening situation, and he loved it when he saw his son trying to think because it reminded him of Cynder. He couldn't stop his vocal chords from vibrating with amusement as he finally answered that questions.

"The Chronicler."

Ivor's eyes widened with awe and disbelief.

"No way! Really?!"

Spyro nodded. He should have known that Ivor would have been interested about this, especially since he rarely talked about the Chronicler. He decided that it would be best to leave that portion of the story depicting his long journey out because he figured that it was for the best that the Chronicler's location be kept a secret.

He thought that the old dragon would prefer the solitude.

The purple dragon chuckled whilst he craned his neck and lovingly nuzzled his son's cheek with his snout. Ivor's mood shifted to a more bright and cheery demeanour as he started to soak in all of the affection, he loved it when his father rubbed his snout against his —he would always get this familiar sensation whenever the adult legendary purple dragon would nuzzle him like this, he didn't know why he loved it so much but he didn't really care.

"Yes, really."

Spyro crouched down to meet Ivor on eye level once more and spoke in a light-hearted, jolly tone as he wrapped one of his forelegs around his young son and proceeded to give him a one-armed hug. He felt as Ivor returned it as best as he could and he was even waggling his little tail out of happiness of not being the _only_ white dragon who ever lived.

True, white dragons were supremely rare (perhaps even more so then purple dragons) but it felt really refreshing to hear that he wasn't the only one.

"You're not a freak, Ivor, you are one of the most special little dragons who ever lived."

Spyro then added, winking playfully at the whelp.

"I'll talk to Cyril, Volteer and Terrador about those dragons who keep picking on you..."

Ivor felt so happy and relieved to hear those words and he even felt his confidence skyrocket to an all time high, he had not felt so good in such a long time. A huge smile spread across his muzzle and he felt his heart gallop with joy. He did feel exhaustion start creeping up on him, though, and his tiredness was starting to show.

Spyro glanced back behind him and noticed fairly quickly that the fire that Ivor had started had gone out and had even left the wooden pile a smouldering pile of cinders. To douse any lingering flames and embers, the purple dragon batted the pile into sections, splinters and chunks until it became no more then a huge pile of ashes and teeny fragments.

He couldn't have any fires starting on one of his favourite places now.

"Okay, Ivor, what do you say we-" He started to speak as he turned to face the small dragon, yet he was cut off from finishing his sentence when he saw how tired and almost lethargic his hatchling was. Ivor looked so tired that it appeared that he could barely stand anymore.

The purple dragon couldn't fight off the urge to roll his eyes. He was pretty certain that it was time to go home before Cynder got too worried, she was so frightening when she got worried and she probably could even strike the smallest smidge of fear in Malefor if she wanted to. It wasn't a pretty picture in any scenario and, to be frank, he was too tired to deal with an overprotective Cynder right now.

He just wanted to go home and get to bed, and it looked like he wasn't the only one.

Spyro took a cursory look up towards the sky and very quickly realised that the storm clouds above were starting to gather to make a cluster of dark/black clouds that looked to have been packed with rainwater. The winds had started picking up from its casually light breeze to a fierce series of gusts and the rumble of thunder started to erupt in the distance as rain started to pitter-patter and fall from the darkened skies.

A vicious storm was coming.

" _Time to go..._ " Spyro thought as he whirled on all fours and faced his sleepy son.

Poor little Ivor seemed to have been struggling to keep his eyes open, he flapped his small underdeveloped wings and his eyelids were making it so his eyeballs were half-lidded. He looked back up at his father with a curious look as he decided to ask a question right before the willpower keeping him fully conscious gave out.

He fought back a yawn as he asked, his voice slurring sleepily, "Dad? Can we...go see the...the Chronicler some...s-someday...?"

Spyro nodded. He fully intended on taking his whelp on a father/son trip to see one of the wisest of dragons since it would probably good for him to see another white dragon. He could just imagine the look on his son's face as he would introduce him to the wise, old keeper of the books telling the stories of countless and, besides, he hoped to keep the Chronicler some company yet he also sincerely hoped that he may see someone...someone special. He felt the familiar wave of nostalgia come rushing back as he found his thoughts flying to Ignitus, his father figure.

 _"Spyro. When a dragon dies, it does not truly leave this world. His spirit lives on, binding itself with nature, offering hope for the future."_

The purple dragon dwelled on those words. Whether he imagined that due to delirium from the heat of the planets core or whether it was real, he didn't know. But he did have to ask himself one thing that troubled him for a long time now...could Ignitus really be alive?

"D-Dad...?" Ivor's tired voice brought Spyro back to his senses as he blinked a few times to snap himself out of his daze. He realised that this was probably not worth thinking about right now since he needed to focus on the precious little hatchling quite literally falling asleep in front of him. He beamed down at the small dragon whelp and he finally decided to respond to that question to the best of his ability, he flashed an anxious toothy grin to the little one.

"We'll see, alright?"

Ivor yawned and hardly seemed to notice the vagueness to that response as he stumbled a bit.

Spyro smiled warmly as he gently bent down and grabbed the small dragon up by the back of his neck, making sure not to bite down too hard as to hurt him or something. Ivor didn't seem to mind as he stopped struggling against that urge and succumbed to the need to close his eyes. He quietly moaned as his head hung limply and he curled into a small midair ball.

The fatherly purple dragon, Ivor hanging in his mouth, readjusted his footing and spread his wings out to the sides as he prepared to take flight. He closed his eyes, inhaled a deep breath and cleared his mind whilst letting the voices of the ancestors flow through him like a river without obstruction and giving him their wisdom that flowed through generations —he could hear nothing but the sound of the oncoming storm. He recalled how Ignitus taught him how to fly, one of his happiest memories. He couldn't wait to teach Ivor how to fly too.

By the time he reopened his eyes, he found himself already airborne as he flapped his large and magnificent wings. He was growing increasingly wary of the darkening atmosphere which was surely a sign that the storm was almost upon them. He locked both of his eyes on the sleepy little dragon dangling from his own jaw and he felt his heart grow just as warm as a fire on a cold, winter night.

Ivor gave a contented hum and smiled softly in his sleep.

Spyro felt his heart grow even warmer as he flapped his wings, using the strengthening wind currents as he flew across the sky. He smiled gently through his clenched fangs as he flapped his wings even harder to try and make a higher ascent as his tail blew in the winds, nothing felt as natural or as gratifying as flying did; there was just no comparison to the sensation of freedom and everything else.

For Spyro it didn't matter who he looked like, how cool his scales are, whether he took after his mother or father more, which kinds of power would he have when he grew older or any of that. All that mattered to him was his little Ivor's safety, well-being and happiness.

All that mattered was that Ivor was his son and he loved him, no matter what.

"Let's go home."

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 **A/N: Here is the fourth part of my Spyro "Scales" fanfics.**

 **Spyro and Ivor have some father/son bonding times and I hope you guys enjoy it.**

 **Happy 2019 new year, everyone!**

 **Please review and fave.**

 **-Chloemcg**


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